


誠 | sincerity

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bakumatsu period, F/F, Pulmonary Tuberculosis, Ritsuka is the Reincarnation of a Sassy Doctor, Wishful Thinking, rating for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-09-18 16:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: Captain Okita really was pretty when she was behaving herself.  That’s what I thought, anyway.





	1. JANUARY 1867

**Author's Note:**

> a super special thanks to [crystalGS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalGS/pseuds/crystalGS) who wrote two AMAZING azur lane fanfictions which were a big big big big inspiration for this and you should read both of them.

> [ 𝙹𝙰𝙽𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟽 ]

After my father’s death the previous month, I had been in the care of Matsumoto Ryojun, a friend and colleague of his.  My relationship with him had always been genial, and I saw him as a second father figure, especially as my biological father’s health declined.  When he had not only offered to allow me, an unmarried woman, live in his home but also assist him in his work, I was overjoyed.  My father’s legacy as a physician would be retained, at least through my generation, and that was enough for me to overlook the type of clientele Matsumoto took in on his own terms.  I need only grind the medicine and perform my duties as his ‘assistant.’

I had known Matsumoto worked closely with the group of ronin, the Shinsengumi, which had taken center stage in recent years.  I had seen individuals visit occasionally, and I kept my distance.  The Wolves of Mibu were not known to all be respectable gentlemen, even if they had a moral code to uphold.  Which is why I thought he would never take me inside their walls and onto their compound.  Yet, here I was, seated beside Matsumoto in one of the gathering halls as droves of shirtless samurai began to line up.

“Satou, make sure to take precise notes,” said the doctor, tying his sleeves back.  His broad face didn’t betray any sympathy for her situation, but she could see a gleam of laughter in his narrow eyes.  “There are a lot of men here and I want to get this done fairly quickly.”

Midwinter check ups were not uncommon.  The colder season often weakened the body and made it more hospitable for disease.  As many men regularly engaged in combat through their patrols, the likelihood of underlying injuries also was present.  With war on the horizon, the Shinsengumi could not afford to be caught unprepared for a moments sortie.

Unglamorous as it was, it was my duty to catalogue the name of every member that came up and record any notations that Matsumoto would have.  This would include who would need to be quarantined for health issues, and who would be requiring the mixing of medication.  Things that would need to be done following the examinations or things that would need to be mixed at home.

For the most part, the men kept their advances under control.  Nearly every one made sure to stop and compliment.  Whether it was the way I wrote the kanji of their names or the red color of my hair, I had gotten used to those type of men well before I had taken residence with Matsumoto.  I figured I wouldn’t be asked any questions for me though.  Matsumoto didn’t mind a back and forth in the clinic, but here, he couldn’t risk the loss in standing.

“Okita Souji,” Prompted Matsumoto, “spelled with the characters…”

I listened to instruction and prepared the officers sheet before looking up.  The Shinsengumi was house to men of all shapes and sizes, so the short stature of the captain didn’t surprise me initially.  Instead, I furrowed my brow as he took his haori off and slid to the floor before Matsumoto.  He was pretty, I thought and I realized that it was the first time I had paid attention to any of the ronin.  His hair was straight and pale, paler even than his skin.  Slowly, he tucked his arms into his kimono and parted the front.

I realize it’s impolite to stare, but I couldn’t help it.  There was an art to the taut muscles that went from his arms to his shoulders, keeping his pert breasts up perfectly.  I paused, staring at her chest until her sharp eyes brought my attention back to the front.  “Your woman is doing a poor job, sensei,” said Okita with mild irritation.  “Was bringing her here just for morale?  They take plenty of trips to Shimabara.”

My face burned hot.  Vulgarity I could handle.  There was an amount necessary in dealing with people’s intimate health.  However, such rudeness?  I hastily took back my admiration for her form.  “Excuse me?  Is surprise not a normal response to seeing a woman samurai?” I replied curtly, “If having a woman around is good enough for morale, then they should be plenty happy with you.”

Her stare was as sharp as a blade and I had only realized my fighting words when she reached for her sword.  Even still, I puffed my chest out and stood my ground.  If she could kill me for ugly words, then I was in the right for refuting hers.  Matsumoto clapped his hands loudly, breaking our concentration just enough.  He had a harsh frown on his lips that immediately made me docile.

“Any more and both of you will get into trouble,” he warned, and that was the trigger for Okita to ease slightly.  Her eyes still burned into me, but her hand had gone lax on her swords hilt.  “Kae,” Matsumoto addressed me by my first name, “its not your or my place to speak to our patrons like that.”  I bowed my head in frustration and began to consider how to apologize.

“Okita-san, Satou-san has studied thoroughly under one of my colleagues and is among my trusted associates for knowledge on Dutch medicine,” He continued, and I lost the breath in my lungs.  Color had flooded into my face again, but this time out of shyness.  “It will be her mixing your medicines.  Perhaps consider that when reaching for your sword.”

Matsumoto’s words of encouragement left me buzzing, and I slowly drew my head back up.  Once again, my eyes met Okita’s but this time, I couldn’t tell what I was seeing.  Her gray eyes bore down on me, and finally, I could see the curious light in her gaze.  She kept quiet for the remainder of the check up, aside from what Matsumoto asked of her, but her eyes didn’t stray away from me.  They called the Shinsengumi the “Wolves of Mibu.”

I felt very much like I was being watched by a wolf in that moment.  Sizing me up as if I were food.  I listened to the order Matsumoto wanted me to produce for her.  A treatment for a persistent cough.  As I finished my notes, I watched her put her kimono back on and drape her haori over her shoulders.  Kneeling down, she lifted her katana.

“You’ll produce the medicine for me, woman?” She asked, holding her sword at the center of its sheathe.  Her other hand remained lax at her side, making it clear that this wasn’t a threat.

I bit the inside of my cheek.  It was a shame such a pretty face was wasted upon someone so rude.  “I will.  Medicine shouldn’t be withheld from even those with an ill nature.” I replied moving my notes on Okita aside so the ink could dry fully.  Her eyes narrowed on me for a moment, but I didn’t shrink.

Maybe that was what she wanted, because Okita nodded after a moment.  “Then you will bring it to me,” she punctuated the end of her statement by pressing her free hands knuckles to her lips and coughing.  “If it’s poison, then I’ll kill you on the spot.”  The captain flashed a self satisfied smirk before parting ways.

Matsumoto drew his eyes over to me, and for a moment there was silence.  I wondered if he was going to chastise me for speaking out against his wishes.  Instead he stripped the gloves off of his hands and set them aside.  “The cough is low in the chest, and if it persists, it will require further examination,” he said, and I knew it was my job to transcribe that note for later.  “Bring the next one in.”

I was surprised.  Maybe because Okita was also a woman.  Maybe it was because she was a rowdy officer.  Regardless, he didn’t speak on it any further.  Even when we returned home that evening, and the both of us began work at the mortar and pestle, our conversation related mostly to work.  By the end of the batches, it had completely slipped my mind.  Neatly folding the last dosages into their respective packing, Matsumoto leaned back and rolled his wrists.

“You’ll deliver these tomorrow,” he said with a tone of finality.  Even though I was working for him, I was living in his home and imposing on his kindness.  This sort of thing wasn’t a request.  “You’ll need to stay a bit longer in case there is any issues.”  I nodded in response.  That made sense to me, and seeing how respectable they seemed that day, I wasn’t terribly concerned.

“For that reason, I want you to make your first stop to be Captain Okita,” Matsumoto continued, “if you keep your company with a captain, your safety among those men is more assured.”

I made a face, and the doctor laughed.  “Her?  Surely, one of the other officers,” I trailed off.  My mind brought up the image of her pale hand and slender fingers wrapped around her swords hilt.  I didn’t think I was much safer with her than the other men.

“Captain Okita requested your presence explicitly,” Matsumoto replied with a shrug.  “I know your concerns, but be assured, the officers are - troublesome, but trustworthy.” I furrowed my brow.  To believe that the captain went out of her way to make the request after our spat was even more exhausting.  She must have wanted to harass me further.

The matter, however, was not open for discussion.  I began preparing my patience early, and tried to maintain it all the way to their compound.  The men standing guard recognized me immediately, and let me through.  I disregarded their leering and requested the location of Captain Okita.  They exchanged looks momentarily, and one of them decided to escort me down along the porch lines to where I assume the officers stayed.  The further in we went, I noticed less members about.

Finally, the man escorting me descended to his knees and I followed suit.  “First Captain, Matsumoto-sensei’s assistant has arrived,” he announced at the door.

I pursed my lips.  “Satou Kae,” I corrected lightly.  “Please inform the captain that Satou Kae has arrived to administer her medicine.”

Almost immediately after I spoke, the door slid open and revealed the captain.  In the natural light, I found her pale complexion even more stunning and even more of a shame to her bad character.  Her knuckles rested on her lips, indicative of her being plagued by a persistent cough.  Okita did not even glance at the man between us, and she lowered her hand to reveal a smug smile.

“Satou, huh,” Okita’s hand settled on the frame of the door as she spoke to me.  “You’ve come to poison me, then.” Her eyes had a malicious glitter that made mine narrow.  My intuition about her intentions seemed to be fairly clear.  She invited me here to bully me.

I was determined not to be a victim.  “If that’s what you want to call it.” I replied, not tearing my eyes away from hers.  “Sensei assures me that you are trustworthy, so I will make myself at home in your room.”  I stood up and passed her as I walked in, stopping for a moment along the threshold to turn to the young man behind me.  “You, sir.  The captain has medicine to take, could you bring some hot water?”

The man looked shocked and confused in equal measures, and I could see his eyes shoot to Okita as I turned to face the interior of her room.  The captain confirmed my request, and shut the door behind me while I sank to the ground beside the small table where I could see she was working.  I had to wonder what kind of documents a Shinsengumi officer had to go through, but I wasn’t about to pry.

“I can’t believe you actually came in person,” Okita said and I could feel her stalking up behind me, even if I couldn’t hear it.  I could see her almost circling me out of the corner of my eyes, and I filed through my basket filled with neatly packed medicines until I found the one I had set aside for the captain.  “You must have come to apologize to me.”

I felt my hackles rise, but as soon as the anger surfaced, I heard Okita cough into her hand.  I turned my head to her and fixed my strongest glare on her.  “Captain, would you sit down?  You’ll only aggravate it worse by acting like this,” I said with a gesture to the floor in front of me.  She was far too old to be playing these types of games with a woman she barely knew.  

Okita stared back at me in what I could plainly describe as disbelief.  Was it so strange to not fall for her tactics, I wondered.  Her expression eased into something neutral after a moment, and I chose not to look away.  For nearly a minute, we had something of a stare down.  She wasn’t going to listen to my request, and I wasn’t going to cower to her.  A voice came from the door and it slid open to reveal a teenage boy who must have only been serving internally entered with a tray containing an earthenware kettle.

“Bring it here,” I instructed before Okita had the chance to talk, and the teen nervously complied.  With hesitance, he set it down before me, between the captain and myself and meekly excused himself.

Okita scowled slightly, “think you own the place, do you, woman?”

I tucked my sleeves aside, and lifted the lid from the kettle to pour in the medicine mixture.  I was definitely being overbearing, but I felt like I had to.  With an unruly person, you needed to exert control.  I poured Okita’s cup and offered it to her.  I kept my eyes focused onto her, unwavering.

“Captain, I’m not here to amuse you.” I said to her firmly.  “You asked if I was here for morale, perhaps you were hoping I would satisfy yours.  I, however, am here to oversee your health.  Whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish, it will not happen.”

For a moment, I thought she would cut me down.  That was the expression on her face.  However, she glanced down at the steaming cup I offered her and approached me.  Slowly, she sank down to a seat before gingerly taking the cup.  I silently let a sigh of relief.  Even if for just a moment she was being compliant.  She blew the steam away and slowly took a drink.

I stared as she did, watching the slight flinch of the hot drink on her tongue and the flush of the heat against her face.  Captain Okita really was pretty when she was behaving herself.  That’s what I thought, anyway.


	2. SPRING 1867

> [𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟽]

The rainy seasons brought a strange disquiet.  People spent most of their time indoors, and the incidents that normally would occur on the streets stewed in silence.  It was a slower time in the clinic, and mostly, the doctor and I spent most our time dealing with the seasonal fevers.  Matsumoto had said that he normally closed the clinic around this time as he made a usual trip out to the capital, but because of the slow pace, he would leave it in my care.

I was staggered but proud.  I understood that my father was close with him so I assumed that a large portion of this trust was on that.  However, I wouldn’t let that discourage me.  I was happy to do the small work that was left behind, and didn’t mind the loneliness of working the mortar and pestle on my own.  I had a few regulars already, and many of the elderly didn’t mind me doing their check ups as needed.  So long as I locked up early, before the sun went down, I never had any trouble.

That was, of course, until the rains died out.  As the drier climate came in, the bustle continued in the streets.  It was like releasing a bull from its pen.  Or perhaps, more likely, releasing starved wolves.  Incidents became more common.  Typically, it ended in detention or death, so it was no business of mine but for the occasional spat that took place near the clinic.

The Shinsengumi took its patrols seriously, that much I had learned.  Their routes were precise, and they were thorough in their work.  I often found them too quick to resort to violence, but I couldn’t ignore that the paths they followed more closely had fewer incidences of violence against the average citizen.  There was even a sense of calm in seeing their lanterns, emblazoned with the character for sincerity, when I glanced out of the windows at night.

Sometimes, I would catch the sight of a certain captain stopping by the clinic.  The light of her lantern illuminating her pale face.  Her features were striking, handsome even, against the foggy night.  I tried not to pay her much attention.  The captain had a fancy for trying to catch my nerves.  When she would catch me in the market place, she would have a go at my patience with crassness or rudeness.  It was no wonder she fit in with the men there as she behaved no differently than a boy.

It was around nightfall when I heard the commotion.  I had just finished cleaning the clinic and had just gotten up to lock it up.  It was sad to say that the sound of a fight was not uncommon, and I could tell apart the shouts of drunks form those in a fight.  My better instincts said to remain inside, to stay out of it.  The Shinsengumi were on patrol, for better or worse, and they would handle it.  However, there was a nagging feeling in me that pushed myself.  The thought of that handsome captain - I didn’t like her, but that didn’t mean she should die for it.

I slid the door open, and took a step into the street.  A cluster had formed in front of another establishment, and I could see the trademark blues ahead of me.  The moonlight flashed on their swords, and at this distance, all I could see was a smearing of blood.  The bodies of the opposing ronin laid limp on the ground, but my eyes focused on the captain.  In her arms was a younger man, and I could see where a sword had cut him from shoulder to hip.  With an incessant pounding in my heart, I shouted,

“Captain, come here!  Before he bleeds any more.”

Maybe Okita had expected that I would faint, or scream, or blanch at the sight.  She looked struck in place for a moment, as if she couldn’t decide what to do, before hefting the man up a little more and helping him amble to the clinic.  I met them half way, pressing my palms where I could pressure stop as much bleeding as possible and helped along the way.  The young man groaned, and I was thankful to note that he was mindful enough to argue about the pain.

Once inside, he was laid out and I pulled my sleeves back before beginning to strip him from the top.  “Where is Matsumoto-sensei?” Okita asked me, and even though her voice seemed calm, I could tell she was apprehensive.  “Should I go to his home to get him?”

“He isn’t here,” I answered pinching at the mans skin, “Captain, I’ll need to sew this up.  There is shochu over there, would you give it to me?”  I didn’t wait, grabbing a wash basin to first rinse my hands before procuring the needle and threading for suturing.

“Sewing?  Shouldn’t you just use root and bandage?” Okita argued.  For a moment, I had forgotten that western treatments were less common.  The idea of sewing a man shut probably seemed odd to someone who had never seen it before.  That, however, was not an excuse.  “What makes you think that we should trust you for this?”

“For the same reason that they trust you to swing a sword, Captain,” I got up and quickly grabbed the cheap liquor.  Pouring it over the wound, the man groaned in response.  I could see Okita grab her sword in my peripheries.  “Cut me down if you want, Captain.  I haven’t the patience to deal with this.” I pressed the needle into the young mans skin and began to work.

That was enough to keep her quiet enough.  I kept the young man up by talking with him.  I asked him what his name was, which unit he was from.  Where was he born, things like that.  I didn’t want him falling unconscious on me, mainly because I didn’t have anything prepared to deal with that.  His voice trembled, especially as I pulled the thread taut, but I praised him quietly for it.  He might not have wanted that in front of his Captain, but I could tell it put him at ease.  His muscles relaxed slightly at first, then a little more as I explained that the deepest parts weren’t near anything that would effect his arms.

“You’ll be able to swing your sword again in no time,” I assured him, tying the end of the thread and cutting it.  I rinsed my hands of the blood and with the shochu, using the clean water I had on hand to wipe his bloody chest.  “Let me get some bandages, Yamazawa-san.  We’re almost done.”

I stood up unsteadily, my feet numb after the long process of suturing Yamazawa up.  My numb feet tripped, and I felt my felt land onto a soft surface.  The bloodied face of Okita remained in front of me.  She stared at me hard, and even still, I stared back.  I hadn’t noticed but her forehead plate had split some, and there was a wound between her eyes.  “Careful,” she said quietly, and held me upright.  “Sit back down.  Where are the bandages?”

I blinked and she took a few ginger steps to urge me back down beside the injured Yamazawa.  I told her, and she immediately went to the drawers where they were kept and returned with a neat bundle.  Before I had the chance to say anything, she took the bowl of rosy blood water.  “I’ll replace this too.”  She said to me in a matter of fact tone.  I watched as she walked through the back of the building where the water pump was.

While I was surprised, I didn’t let it get in the way.  Unraveling the length, I urged Yamazawa up to a seated position to wrap him properly.  He was beginning to be too tired to respond to the pain that squeezing the bandaging brought.  At this point, it was probably a blessing.  Out of the state of emergency, he would need to rest and avoid exerting the wound.  To my continued surprise, he laughed weakly.

"You’re a hell of a woman, ” he said in a rasp.  “Bet your husband is terrified of you.”

I laughed.  “No man can handle me,” I told him.  That was true enough.  My father had enjoyed teaching me medicine, and was proud of my skills.  When the time came around to finding a husband, those that would take on his clinic turned their noses up at me.  It would be fine if I were silent, many of them said.  If I stayed obedient, subservient.  No things I would allow myself to do.

Okita cut in, setting the basin on the floor between me and Yamazawa.  I was surprised, as I didn’t even hear her come back into the room.  Normally she would’ve had something to say about some clear fault in me.  Instead her eyebrows knit together with such force that the laceration on her forehead had begun to well up and spill down her nose.

I grasped her sleeve and pulled her until she stopped moving.  “Captain,” I said firmly and her eyes met mine.  “Sit down and remove your headplate.”

I saw her hesitate for a moment before sinking down.  Her eyes held steady with mine as she reached behind her head and untied the plate loose.  “You’re going to sew me up too?” There was a humor to her voice to try and break the monotony.  I took a damp cloth to her face and she twitched as I wiped the tacky blood from her cheeks before cleaning the wound.

“Oh? Is that your fancy, Captain?  Do you enjoy being nursed so much?” I teased her, and rose to my feet to retrieve my medicines.  The ground root she mentioned earlier would staunch the bleeding just fine. When I returned she seemed to avoid my gaze for whatever reason.  I grasped her chin tightly and brought it back to face me.  “Don’t look away, Captain.  I need to see the wound clearly.” I chastised her, taking an ample amount of the powder on my thumb and pressed it against the cut.

Her eye twitched, and I could tell she was trying not to show that it hurt.  “You already know what this is for,” I said, trying to distract her from the pain with my words.  I could give anesthetics, or painkillers, but it would be a waste for such a small wound.  The both of us knew that.  “I’ll wrap your head up too.  You should change your bandages tomorrow as well.”

“Hey,” Okita spoke up finally as I gathered some bandaging.  “You’re an actual doctor, huh?”

I furrowed my brow as I began to wrap her head.  “I’m no more a doctor than you are a samurai,” I replied.  A complicated issue for the both of us.  Our genders held us back, after all.  The very nature of both things would mean that we, as women, could not be them.  That seemed to make the most sense to her.  “Did you notice that just now?”

I could see Okita bite the inside of her cheek.  She turned her head and looked at Yamazawa.  His breathing had gone a long way and he was beginning to settle down.  Maybe in an hour or so he could be carried back to the Shinsengumi headquarters.  His eyelids flickered, but it looked like he had fallen unconscious.  “He would have bled out by the time we reached the compound,” Okita said and she looked at me.

Oh.  I felt my heart race.  Her cheeks were slightly pink, and her gaze was almost coy.  At times like this, I was reminded that she was a woman more keenly.  That expression would not have been half as handsome or as soft on a man.  Her lips twisted for a moment, and she cleared her throat.  “Can he stay here until I can dispatch some men to retrieve him?”

I glanced at Yamazawa.  I hardly felt threatened by a man that felt discomfort from breathing.  Being alone for an hour or two at most with him wouldn’t scare me.  “That’s fine,” I answered, swallowing my heartbeat in a moment.  I didn’t have the luxury to admire the captain, and I knew better not to.  “I’ll prepare something for the pain in the mean time.  Do you want something as well?”

Okita put a hand to the back of her neck and glanced to the side.  “This much isn’t anything to worry about,” she answered quickly.  “It won’t even scar, just watch.”

The kind of determination in her voice made me laugh.  “Am I your doctor now, then?  I’ll accept if you behave like this in the future,” I rose to my feet to prepare some medicine for Yamazawa.  “You’re not half bad when you’re acting like an adult.”

I turned from the captain only to feel a slight tug on the back of my kimono.  Okita’s hand clasped around a small bit of fabric.  I opened my mouth to argue with her but she spoke up first.  “I’m sorry for my behavior, sensei,” her tone was very quiet, and I almost couldn’t hear her over Yamazawa’s breathing.  “I have misjudged you entirely.”

Her grip loosened and I could step away.  Sensei, huh?  I could get used to that.  I felt myself smile comfortably.  Not in a way to deride her, or a laugh at the situation.  I offered the captain a smile.  “There, now, you’re much more handsome with that expression,” the words spilled out of me before I knew what to do with them.  It was what I thought, honestly.  The Captain’s cool gaze that was respectful but focused could make anyone’s heart race.  “Yamazawa will be fine here.  They’re probably waiting for you, Captain.”

I stopped and pursed my lips.  “Okita-san.”  I corrected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep up with me at my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ashforge)


	3. SUMMER 1867

> [ 𝙹𝚄𝙻𝚈 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟽 ]

Even with the state of things, Kyoto’s spirits would not be dampened.  Many businesses did a really well during the festival season, after all, and whether or not there would be a war, money was always needed.  There was never a shortage of injury or sickness, so Matsumoto and I remained steadily busy, but the atmosphere outside our clinic had an unusual lightness.  It was as if everyone had, momentarily, forgotten their troubles to celebrate.  I noticed the patrols even seemed to go smoothly, with fewer incidents happening than months prior.

While I had made many friends in Kyoto, whenever Matsumoto gave me days to myself, I felt aimless.  I had only mentioned once that I had never been to such a grand festival before, having come from a rural village, and he insisted I take three days to enjoy the scenery.  One before the festivities and two during, and he had provided a small stipend for me to purchase a new yukata for the event.  He was far too generous, I had said, but there was often no arguing with sensei.

Frankly, I didn’t have a need for something nice like a festival yukata.  I had enough clothes without needing to add more, and the thought of staining something nice like that with what I worked with seemed like a waste.  Matsumoto would probably scold me later, but that was something I was willing to take.  Instead, I just wandered the bustling streets.  It was daytime, and with the active energy going on, I didn’t feel a terrible concern for my safety.

Besides, I could see a flash of that sky blue down nearly every street.  The Shinsengumi was out in full force, policing the streets as needed.  At the beginning of the year, I might have dismissed them as a rowdy pack of ronin, but now I found the sight of them rather assuring.  They broke up fights, captured criminals and even assisted with firefighting in the dryer seasons.  Each one might have had individual flaws, but even my skepticism couldn’t prevent at least a bit of admiration for their dedication.

It was that usual comfort that my eyes felt like they were playing tricks on me when I saw the Captain - Okita - without the __asagi-iro__.  No, rather, I think even if she had them on, I would’ve felt a sense of surrealism.  Flocked by children on all sides of her, the young captain sat on the steps leading to the Kifune shrine.  Ink had stained the tips of her fingers and a swipe painted her cheek.  Without thinking, I ducked out of their line of sight and stared.

“Okita-dono, do mine next,” one young girl chirped pushing a sheet of paper into Okita’s hands.  As I looked more closely, I noticed the general wear and tear on all of the kids and realized that I recognized some of them.  Most were vagrants, likely children of burakumin that could not get apprenticeships, and a couple that had lost their homes or families during the rebellions and unrest.

When Okita agreed, the young girl chirped, “I wish to become Okita-dono’s bride.”

The boys groaned loudly in the group, mocking.  “Of course you’d wish for that, Hanayo,” said the oldest looking boy in the group.  “You don’t have to write __that__  wish, Captain.”

The girl, Hanayo, took steps up the stairs to swat at the boy.  Seeing her troubled gait, combined with the nasty burn scars along the left side of her face, I winced.  I had heard of the fires in 1864 and the Kinmon Incident that followed.  She couldn’t even be in her teenage years yet, and it hurt to see how disfigured she had become already.  Okita’s hand drew down careful lines on the paper.

“A bride, huh?” Okita broke apart the dissonance with a few words.  She blew gently on the paper to dry the ink before turning and coughing into her fist.  “I’m sure you’ll be a lovely one some day, Hanayo-chan.”

Oh no, I thought.  I felt my heart race.  The cold, almost savage Okita that I had known made it easy for me to keep my distance.  I could admire her service to Kyoto, to her dedication to the sword.  But her bad attitude made it easy to separate myself.  I pressed my palm against my lips, not trusting anything that might seep out of them.  My face felt hot, as internally I had no option but to connect all these little things that I liked.

No, I insisted.  No, I would not be won over so easily.  Though, I did not understand what or why I was fighting.  I took a bold step, walking towards the small group.  I knew just a little bit of speaking with Okita would free me of my doubts.  That I should stay far away from ronin and handsome captains with wicked smiles.

A couple of the older children instinctively took a step closer and behind Okita as I approached.  Though I knew the reasoning, I felt like it was a quiet blow against me.  That this wolf of a woman was their shield against a stranger.  “Ah, sensei,” Okita beckoned me before I could say anything.  I felt frustrated.  “Come here.  Your handwriting is very good.”

I furrowed my brow.  “Excuse me?”  I answered before I put two and two together.  Okita produced a second brush and handed it to me.

“These kids don’t know how to read or write.” Okita answered anyway, rubbing her cheek in a way that the smear grew wider.  “With the both of us, we should get all of their wishes down pretty quickly.” She tapped the chest of a boy at her side.  “Tell sensei what you want written on your __tanzaku__.”

I hadn’t really the thought to argue.  Honestly, it was a mark of charity that I hadn’t even considered.  Helping heal people, treating illnesses and caring for wounds had always seemed like the ultimate effort.  Studying medicine was difficult, after all, and it was often the last hope for anyone I saw.  Yet, there was an inimitable sense of pride I felt in handing off a tanzaku to someone hoping for a better future.  I glanced over my shoulder and watched as Okita reached out, brushing dirt off the yukata of a child I knew was of the burakumin class.

I watched as the children seemed so magnetically drawn to her.  Her strength, her stature, her attitude and words.  They were different than when she was in my clinic, or wearing her haori.  As the last of the children padded up the stairs, I handed off my brush to her and she gingerly placed it all in a cord wrapped case.  “I have two older sisters,” Okita said with a faint smile.  “I’ve always wanted to be like them.  Mitsu, especially.”

In that moment, I realized I didn’t know much about Okita.  I knew what she presented, what was rumored, but little more.  Okita was the youngest of three daughters, and knowing that made a sort of warmth tickle in my gut.  A smile parted on my lips, and I laughed without thinking.  “It’s still odd to see you get along so well with children,” I said, “I guess your ill nature is only to women you don’t know?”

I could see Okita sulk a bit and the faintest shade of red saturated her cheeks.  “Children are easier to get along with,” she defended herself weakly and glanced away from me.  “Sensei, will you be free for the festival?”

That question caught me off guard.  I stared at her a bit, but Okita refused to look back at me.  If she had planned to ask me to go with her, I was surprised she was not on duty herself.  There were going to be a lot of people out and about during Tanabata, no doubt that the Shinsengumi would be very busy maintaining order.  That they would have any resources to spare an officer during the event seemed strange.  Moreover, I felt a frustrating shyness.  Why me, of all people?

“I am,” I answered quietly, rubbing the back of my neck.  “Matsumoto-sensei has given me leave during the festival.”

I watched her glance back at me for a moment before she brought her palm up to her lips to cough.  That was the second time in a short while, I noted.  Both times, it felt like the fit lasted just a bit too long.  I opened my mouth to ask about it before I could, she took in a sharp breath.  “Sensei, I happen to have some leave too.” She turned to face me this time, face flush from her coughing.  “Allow me to show you Kyoto’s Tanabata.”

My heart pounded in my ears.  I felt myself drawn in all directions.  My instincts to check on Okita’s cough collided with my confusion and embarrassment at the request.  I opened my mouth and shut it several times, trying to find a response that I would not regret.  Okita let out a dry laugh at my predicament, leaning into me slightly.

“Hijikata said that if I do not bring a woman to the festival on my time off, he would double up my shifts.” The captain explained to me with the hint of a smile.  She had that kind of incorrigible glint in her eyes that made me believe she was telling the truth.  Still, I had to grab a hold of my heart before it ran off from me.

It didn’t sound terrible, honestly.  Since the beginning of the year, my opinion of her had grown significantly.  Since I had helped one of her subordinates, she had reformed the way she treated me almost completely.  Calling me sensei was not simply an off hand term of respect.  Today, even, she made no demands of me but to help her write the tanzaku.  Furthermore - well.

I certainly couldn’t argue that Okita was easy on the eyes.  Even from the moment I saw her, I admired her handsome softness.  From her pale eyes to the cool lilt to her voice, there were worse people to spend an evening with.

“The Vice-Commander is funny, shouldn’t a woman invite a man?” I asked with a laugh, but before she had the chance to reply, I continued.  “I’ll await you at the clinic tomorrow, then.”

I had to escape the situation before my heart would run away from me.  It wasn’t like I was new to this sort of attention.  I had suitors before.  A fiance for a short while.  Although they all ended the same way, there were times where I was asked to accompany them before.  I touched my chest and counted the furious pattering that would not go away.

As I walked the full streets, I felt strangely far away from my own mind.  All the yukata that I owned were for daily wear, for working.  I had nothing extravagant that a young woman might want to wear.  Until this very second, that never seemed to bother me.  Even with the men that I was supposed to marry, I never thought about my looks beyond practicality of them.

Until that moment, no one had really made my heart race just from the thought of being alone with them.  I wondered if I was sick or something.  To think a woman would make me feel like that.

The textile shops were full of beautiful things.  Overflowing with carefully dyed designs that they had been saving for such occasions.  I drifted my fingers over the fabric, and I laughed quietly at myself.  I had no such eye for these things.

“Satou-san!  It’s quite a surprise to see you here,” the master of the textile shop was a widowed woman, getting on in her years.  Her son was technically in charge, but it was hardly a secret that his mother ran things.  After years of working with the textiles, her wrists and fingers were constantly in pain and she was one of the many regulars.  “Are you looking for something special to wear for the festival?”

Despite myself I felt a blush creep into my neck.  “Yes.  I haven’t worn something like this since I was a little girl,” I replied, and gave a strained smile.  “I haven’t the slightest clue what would be nice.”

Physically speaking, there was little difference between my normal yukata and this.  It gets put on the same way, had the same weight.  Was more or less of the same material.  Yet, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt out of place.  It was a swath of white fabric with bold red flowers from the collar to the hem.  I adjusted the belt, trying to distract myself from the aggressiveness of it.  The master chose it, of course, and insisted it would look the best on me.

In my palm was a hair pin.  It was simple, with a thin line of beads.  She said that I should make sure to pin my hair up.  ‘The nape of the neck is the epitome of sex appeal,’ she leaned to me.

When I slid the front door open, I felt the summer breeze grace my bare neck and despite the bustle of the festival, it seemed something silent.  The sun gave off a soft orange blush over the city, as well as Okita.  With her arms folded inside of her deep blue yukata, swords nestled against the bend of her elbow, she looked like a painting of some kind.  Her pale eyelashes soaked up the orange sun, and it made the starkness of her gray eyes stand out more.

For a moment, she had nothing to say.  It looked like she had intended to say something, but lost it.  Her eyes travelled my body, and I felt the instinct to hide my neck in embarrassment.  I resisted it, trying to remember that she was a woman.  I was a woman.  No matter the circumstances, it would be strange, wouldn’t it?  Unthinkable, even.  But I felt like her eyes settled onto the nape of my neck, and despite myself, my heart fluttered at the thought of it.

“You look different dressed up like that,” Okita said finally, untucking her arms into her sleeves.  “To think the serious doctor could look like this.  Dangerous.”

I took a large leading step in front of Okita, using my pride to hide any shyness.  “I am a woman, after all.” I huffed, and I heard Okita laugh as she lined in step with me.  I took a second glance at her.  I suppose I wasn’t terribly surprised that she would be wearing a man’s yukata.  Darkly colored, with faint geometric patterns.  It enhanced her already handsome features, and besides that, it would be easier to carry her swords.

“Are you not allowed to wear women’s clothes, Okita-san?” I asked.  Even though I liked the Okita that was handsome, I often wondered about her more feminine traits.  Her long lashes, slender thighs, full lips.  What would Okita look like if she wasn’t a samurai, I thought sometimes.  She was as beautiful as she was handsome.  I’m sure she wouldn’t have as much trouble finding a husband.

My question seemed to surprise her a bit, and she considered it as we slipped through the crowds.  “When I was nine, I started training at the Tennen Rishin-ryu.  I spent so much of my time there that dressing that way felt more normal than the other way around,” there was a roar of a crowd as two businesses showed off their extravagant decorations, and Okita stopped a moment to pull me closer to her to walk around them.  “I do sometimes admire pretty yukata like yours.  I wonder how I would look in something so feminine.  But you know,” her voice dropped so low that I could barely hear it.

“If you thought of me as a man, I might not be opposed.”

I blinked, confused.  “I’m sorry?”

Okita flashed a wolfish smile over her shoulder, “there are lots of things a woman can’t do.”

The thundering of my heart made it hard to think.  I wanted to wonder what she meant but I was almost afraid of the answer.  Her hand still lingered on my arm, and I was suddenly far more aware of it and the heat of her body next to me.  My first instinct was to separate from her, to not deviate too greatly, but - I kept my steps in time with hers as we admired the beautiful lights of the festival.

As we drew closer to the shrine, the crowds thinned some as quiet reverence became the norm.  The sun had set already, leaving the steps illuminated with decorated lanterns.  People spoke softly with each other, mostly couples, as they scaled up and down the steps. I was hyper aware of our presence then.  Of Okita’s palm on my arm, of my shoulder against her side.  I took one step to the side, breaking the contact.

Okita was silent, and brought her arm back to her body without complaint.  There were many things a woman can’t do.  I realized that.

“Why would Hijikata make you take a woman out to Tanabata?” I asked, stopping beneath a lantern.  As I turned, Okita had not yet stepped into the light but I thought I saw her blush.  Perhaps I already knew the answer, but I was too cowardly to accept it.  Proud as I was, in this instance I didn’t think I had it.

Okita looked the same as ever when she stepped into the light though, and her smile seemed faint.  “He’s the type of man that loves affairs of all sorts,” she answered dismissively.  “But truth be told, there might be more to it.  He said __you__  specifically.”

My eyebrows flew up.  Me?  I wondered if Hijikata was using Okita to size me up for himself.  “Even though we rarely get along?” I asked.

With a tilt of her head, Okita grinned, “we’ve been getting along quite well today.”

I bit my cheek.  I really hated being wrong, and especially to her.  “You’re evading the question, __Captain__.” I leaned into her title, making sure she knew I was not ready to give up.

She smiled, running her nails along her jawline and turned to the temple.  “Did you write a tanzaku, sensei?” Okita deliberately changed the subject again, and as I wound up to say that, she reached out and took my hand.  With a strong but gentle grip, she lead me the rest of the way.  “The truth is,” she said, not facing me, “I’ve been getting sick a lot lately.”

I nearly missed a step.  I had heard that the shinsengumi had been ordering medicine quite a bit, but this was news to me.  I fought for the right thing to say, but Okita took me to where all the bamboo had been filled.

She remained facing away from me, staring at the many slips of paper.  “I was a very sickly child.  I thought I had overcome things when I had joined the Shieikan.  But even now, sensei, just this outing is making my chest burn.” Finally, she turned back around to me, and I searched for any humor in her expression.  I found none.

“The last time I was sick, you appeared and I recovered,” Okita answered closing her eyes, “Hijikata seems to think you’re good for me.”

“What,” I hesitated, “what are the symptoms?”

Okita smiled sadly, “well, sensei, it started with a cough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa! it's been awhile!! i felt the passion to finish this chapter and the passion to continue! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ashforge)


	4. FALL 1867

> [ 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟽 ]

Many of the diseases my father wrote about in his journals, he had encountered mostly overseas.  His trips to Holland and the United States filled books to the brim with information that was, while perhaps not rare, but invaluable to a physician.  As I got older, he would allow me to finger my way through his precious handwritten tomes, memorizing symptoms and names that were almost unpronouncible in my Japanese tongue.  I wanted to learn though.  This whole world of knowledge that was just beyond our closed borders.  As a young girl, that became my fantasy.  Saving humanity, even if little by little.

As an adult woman, I knew there were limits to what I could do.  What the world would want me to do.  Even if I pressed them, stretched them taut, reality would inevitably sink in.  I would play at this role of a doctor until I found a man who could handle me.  I would sit at the back of his clinic, mixing medicine until my fingers grew old and swelled.  My hopes for the future, my grand dreams, would settle downwards.  Helping the people I could reach.  That was a noble enough dream.

Even still, I felt a great sense of resentment for it.  That all this information was there to be learned, yet I could not seek it out.  I wonder if that sense of frustration and anger was what drew me towards such a morbid path.  I couldn’t say, or know, why I fought.  My nails buried into the fibers of the tatami, head pressed against it in deference. My cheeks and eyes burned, as I closed my fingers into my palms so hard that I felt bruises form.

Never once had I bowed to anyone so deeply.  Not to Matsumoto, not to Kondo Isami, not to my own father.  But in that small crowded room, I did just that.  “Please, let me oversee her health,” I begged, red in the face.  “This is the fourth time since summer, and the unrest is simply growing.”

Following the Tanabata festival, First Captain Okita’s health had steadily begun declining.  Although she had spoken with me about it, no one could really anticipate how hard the crash was.  Within a month, she had collapsed from heat stroke.  Matsumoto and I attended to her following it, observing fever and sweating in abnormal amounts.  Combined with the coughing, we had our suspicions immediately.  However, at the time, the summer heat left a lot of questions.

However, within the months that followed, three more incidents regarding heatstroke or anemia.  Two out of those three were recorded as minor incidents, a dizziness and fatigue that hindered her work but did not prevent her from accomplishing it.  A matter she seemed interested in keeping quiet, as neither myself nor Matsumoto had heard about it until the fourth incident.

Behind me, I heard Okita stir in her futon.  Her breathing rasp and stilted.  The scent of her sweat, no doubt saturating her entire bedding, filled the room in addition to the metallic tang of blood.  She had suffered a minor injury in her patrols, but with excessive overexertion, even a little could do a lot.  I clenched my teeth.  Even if Matsumoto did not want to say it, we all knew what the issue had become.

I glanced up at Hijikata Toshizo, the man they called the demon, and looked him in the eyes.  “The First Captain has tuberculosis.  If she doesn’t submit to regular care, then she will die before you fight any battles.” As I spoke, I could see nothing going on behind Hijikata’s steely expression.  For a moment, I had even considered that he didn’t care, and felt a flare of anger inside of me.  However, his expression softened slightly as he thought.

“Hm,” he leaned backwards some, “what do you think about that, Kondo?”

I think both me and Matsumoto jumped slightly as the Commander shyly slid the door open.  I had only ever met Kondo in passing, but I had always recognized him as a passionate man with a strong conviction.  Seeing him eavesdrop on a conversation, like some nosy older brother, seemed to give his persona a softer blush.  He excused himself a bit and eased into the room.

He cleared his throat, “I don’t suppose we have much of a choice.”

Find a man who could handle me, make some medicine.  Save the world on a smaller scale.  I had somehow skipped a few steps to get there.

While I did not live on the compound, I visited it daily.  The Shinsengumi worked something out with Matsumoto, I suppose, and while I did my duties at the clinic, I returned morning and evening to check on Okita.  I recorded what she ate and drank. Her pain levels and things like that.  On paper, easily, one could see it as a scientific pursuit.  Devoid of attachment and longing.  I wanted it to remain that way, even long after things were done.

What I felt was secret.  Special.

“Good morning,” I greeted, letting myself into her room.  When the mornings were warmer, Okita often was up before her arrival.  Fevered and sweating, too tired to move.  As it began to cool down some, it seemed as though she had a bit more peace with her sleep.  I set down a hot breakfast at her bedside as I retrieved the wash basin that I kept in the room.

My intrusion was enough to rouse her though.  Awaking with a rattle of coughs that seemed to go on long past the amount of air in her lungs.  I tried not to stare as she clawed at her sheets, fighting her chest to get the chance to breathe.  Finally, she reached it, and she sank against the futon, exhausted.

“What day is today?” she asked and when I answered she rubbed her face with her palms.  “You can get the water now, sensei.  I’m fine.”

I nodded, excusing myself to the courtyard where the well was.  Even if I counted how many steps I took, and tried to hurry, it never seemed like I was moving fast enough.  Even if Okita claimed that she was fine, there had been times where I returned to her locked in another coughing fit.  Each time, I spend the day considering what ifs.

This day, thankfully, was not a case like that.  The captain had pulled into a sitting position by the time I had returned.  Though, I noticed, she had not begun eating yet.  I set down the basin and returned to her.  “You can’t get better if you don’t eat,” I scolded her, kneeling opposite of her.  Carefully, I unfolded packets of medicine to begin mixing.

Instead of listening, though, she watched me handle the medicine.  “Why did you choose to be a doctor?” Okita asked, finally taking the bowl of rice off the tray.

Surprise washed over me and I had to think about the answer.  “I admired my father.” I answered quietly.  “He was a doctor, and helped a lot of people.  He travelled overseas so he could master medicine.  I thought it was very romantic.”

Okita made a hum of understanding.  “That must be nice,” she answered.  “I was a baby when my father died.  When someone says ‘father’ - all I can think of is Kondo-sensei.  That is, Kondo-san’s father.”  She made delicate little bites between speaking.  I made note that she was being visually reluctant to eat before pouring a cup mixed with her medicine.

“Is that why you chose to be a samurai?  To fulfill some oath to Kondo-san’s family?” I asked, urging the cup into her hands and she took a gulp.  The bitterness made her grimace.

“I was born a samurai,” Okita said after another drink.  Even if she didn’t want to eat, the medicine would alleviate the pain some.  “Okita Sōjirō Fujiwara no Harumasa.  The Shinsengumi is,” she paused. “Because I am a samurai.”

I furrowed my brow.  “What do you mean?”

“A samurai must have a master,” Okita smiled so softly that I felt my heart melt.  “I - want to serve Kondo to the end.”

In my head, I had always thought of samurai as rowdy people.  A warrior class in a world that didn’t need it anymore.  The warrior code was old, and a warriors unrest always lead to violence.  But the gentle, honest way Okita had said it made me hesitate for a moment.  The romance of fighting to the death, the flowers blossoming in the wind.  I could never fathom a world where that was a comfortable thought, yet on Okita’s lips, it sounded beautiful.

I felt a new sense of resentment too.  I wanted to save this flower bud simply for it to die.

“Don’t look so upset, sensei.” Okita gingerly took the bowl of soup from her tray.  “I’m not dead yet.  I won’t get left behind.”

I don’t understand samurai.  I don’t understand Okita.  More than anything, I don’t understand myself.  For some reason, the thought of her wishing to do somewhere I couldn’t reach, really hurt.  That I had been giving her my time and expertise, that I had been giving her this much, so she could get herself killed by someone somewhere.  I had always known that beautiful dream a samurai held close to his heart but - when she said it with such a blissful smile, I was quite bitter.

It was late at night, after having returned home from my evening visit that the thoughts came to me in force.  The resentment, the desperation, the anger.  Feelings that I had attached so strongly to this woman that I couldn’t escape.  That required me to see her every day, that left me wondering and weak in the night, thinking on what I was missing when I wasn’t there.  I had always known I was strange, but never quite so.

Sometimes, when the pain was too much, it was up to me to wipe her body of sweat.  She always avoided my eyes when I did it, and I was thankful for it since it was the source of my shame.  It was late at night, after having returned home from my evening visit that the thoughts came to me.  I tried so long not to indulge them, but some part of me had lost control.  No matter what I would do, this flower would slip from my fingers and die.

I thought of her hands vividly.  I had touched them often, so I knew how they felt.  Callouses over the palms, but slender and feminine.  Strong, but not too unlike mine.  I memorized how they felt for honest reasons, but now I couldn’t say so.  Sinking between my legs to my core.  I had known how to deal with myself for a long time, but this was the first time I had imagined someone else during.  Okita’s feverish hot skin stayed at the forefront my mind as my frustration slipped and dipped against me.

Gasping softly, eyes shut tight, my private humiliation did not slow or cease as I thought of her taut body.  Her rigid abdominal, pert breasts.  The soft cadence of her voice, teasing.  There were many things a man can do that a woman cannot.  I wanted her to show me.  Show me so that I could remove her from that death filled world that she knew that she owned.

But I knew that she would not be the Okita that I knew if she were not there.  And I knew that I would not want anyone but that.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, friends! it's been awhile, huh? i've had a lot of things going on that have kept me from the joy of writing but i'm hoping i'm going to make a come back. once again, i'd like to thank [crystalGS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalGS/pseuds/crystalGS) who has been helping me out with writing this, and who writes such amazing fanfiction that you should definitely be reading.
> 
> this is a unique sort of story that i want to use to shape the character of okita that's implied in a lot of dialogue but never really utilized because of the comedic nature of guda guda.
> 
> tumblr has decided im not content with listing, so please keep up with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ashforge).


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